by Shirley Wine
Brooke’s quiet words increased his anxiety. She may just as well be speaking a foreign language.
What do I know about such dietary requirements? Come to that, what the hell is a vegan?
‘Have you asked Rose about her food preferences, or have you just served up what you’re accustomed to eating?’
His sense of inadequacy grew even stronger. ‘Surely, Rose would have said something if she didn’t like the food.’
‘Not necessarily.’ Brooke’s expression gentled. ‘She may be too afraid to complain.’
‘Afraid? You think Rose is afraid of me?’
‘No! But she may consider you’re better off without her and her finicky food fads. If you decided you no longer wanted her, where would she go then?’
He stared at Brooke in appalled silence. It took him several tries to find his voice. ‘Surely Rose knows that I would never abandon her or Otto, no matter what.’
‘You know that, but does Rose?’
‘How can she not know this?’ He raked a shaking hand through his hair; Brooke’s comments rocked him to the core.
‘Think about this from Rose’s point of view, Luke.’ She lifted a hand and let it fall. ‘Her parents’ deaths have shredded that girl’s sense of stability. It will take time, lots of time, before she feels secure enough to understand that to you, blood ties mean you’ll stand at her side, and be there for the long haul.’
The perfectly reasoned words made Luke want to lash out.
He could live forever without hearing anyone suggest that he would turn his back on his niece. How dare Brooke even think this, let alone say it? Did she consider he was a scumbag who would turn his niece, his own flesh and blood, away because of some dietary problem?
‘It’s never going to happen,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘Understand this. I take care of my own. ‘
‘I’m not trying to insult you; I’m merely pointing out something that may not have occurred to you.’ She took a step back, lifting her hands palm outwards. ‘It’s only an observation.’
He sucked in a deep, shaken breath and the red haze in front of his eyes slowly dissipated. The quiet words percolated through his anger, but this did little to stem the sick, hollow sensation that invaded his gut. ‘Have you been talking to the children’s grandparents?’
Brooke’s eyes widened and her brows rose until they almost touched her dark hair. ‘No, why?’
‘Duncan and Margaret McLellan insist that living with me, their bachelor uncle, isn’t in Rose or Otto’s best interests,’ he muttered bitterly, turning away from her. Much as he hated to admit it, Luke knew they could wrest custody of his sister’s children away from him.
‘What grounds do they have for thinking this?’
‘Who knows? Ian’s parents never considered my sister good enough to marry their son, and they sure as hell don’t think I’m a fit person to finish raising their grandchildren. They’re already threatening to contest my guardianship.’
‘Ian being your brother-in-law?’
He nodded.
‘I take it, you consider this a bad thing?’ she probed carefully.
‘The very worst.’ He raked an unsteady hand through his hair, leaving it in dishevelled spikes. ‘Ian and Jenn were adamant that should anything ever happen to them, they didn’t want their children raised by his parents.’
‘The children’s parents appointed you as their legal guardian?’
Luke paced across to the window before he turned back to face her, restive under her intent scrutiny. ‘They did.’
‘Then surely they would respect their son’s wishes?’
‘You’d think so,’ Luke said bitterly. ‘But Ian’s parents are cold, controlling and inflexible. And what they want, they go after, regardless of who gets hurt in the process. Ian was adamant that he never wanted his children to grow up in the same atmosphere he was forced to endure as a child. If these people can prove neglect, like Rose developing an eating disorder, they may have solid grounds to challenge my guardianship.’
The thought of Ian’s parents succeeding was enough to make Luke’s blood run cold. Now, with Brooke highlighting a problem he’d refused to consider because he was afraid of the ramifications, he knew that if after one meeting she could see the problem with Rose, so could the McLellans.
‘Do Otto and Rose see their grandparents?’
‘No.’ Luke punched a fist in his open palm. ‘And if I had my way, they’d never see them.’
‘You can’t prevent them visiting,’ Brooke said with undisguised horror.
‘I know this,’ he said, barely concealing his impatience. ‘But Ian’s parents are not reasonable and they are adept at feeding the kids’ guilt.’
‘Guilt?’
Luke nodded. ‘Rose and Otto have both had serious attacks of the “why did we survive when our parents didn’t” variety. They’re far too vulnerable to withstand much of this, or any other form of emotional blackmail.’
‘You are not wrong—’ she nibbled on her lower lip, studying him, her expression troubled, ‘—but unless you find a solution for Rose, and allow the children to interact with their grandparents, you’re giving them sound grounds to contest your custody.’
‘I do know this,’ he muttered, rubbing at his neck, ‘but it’s easier said than done.’
‘I suggest you deal with Rose’s finicky appetite first. Does Matt employ a cook at the homestead? Could she help you plan menus or perhaps do some of the cooking for you, food that may tempt Rose’s appetite?’
Luke looked away, unwilling to meet Brooke’s eyes. ‘I’d rather deal with a nest of hornets than ask Sofia Gomez for help,’ he muttered, ‘with anything.’
That earned him a startled look; her eyes alight with curiosity, Brooke asked, ‘Who is Sofia Gomez?’
‘Matt’s Latino cook.’ Heat surged into his face and he kept rubbing at the back of his neck. ‘She hates my guts. I wouldn’t eat any food she prepared.’
Brooke laughed and her dark eyes sparkled. ‘Why? What did you do to the woman?’
Luke did not want to get into this. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘I’m all ears.’ She gave another gurgle of laughter.
Damn. How did their discussion about Rose get so off track?
‘What have you heard about recent events out here at Whitby Downs?’
Brooke shrugged. It was her turn to look decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Only what Dad’s told me. I avoid gossip like the plague.’
‘Me too. Did Frank mention how Lachlan Buchanan left his will?’
Brooke shook her head. ‘Not that I’ve heard.’
‘It was a real mess,’ Luke said grimly. ‘Buchanan left Whitby Downs to Charlotte’s young son Noah, and nominated Matt as Noah’s sole trustee until the boy came of age, with the proviso that if anything happened to Matt, the family lawyer, Russell Taylor, would become Noah’s trustee by default.’
‘Buchanan cut Charlotte out of his will in favour of her little boy? Isn’t he a preschooler?’
Luke nodded. ‘Yes and yes. Taylor presented this will for probate, but unluckily for him, Charlotte and Matt found a later will Buchanan had hidden, a will Taylor had also witnessed. In this second will, Buchanan left his entire estate to Charlotte, unencumbered, with Matt as executor.’
‘The lawyer knowingly presented an outdated will for probate?’ Brooke stared at Luke, her eyes open impossibly wide. ‘That’s so unethical. Surely, hiding a later will would create a dangerous situation. Couldn’t her father see this?’
‘You’d think so.’ Luke shook his head, appalled all over again. ‘It darn near cost Matt his life. It was sheer good luck that Taylor and his henchman, Scott, who worked alongside us both here on Whitby as a stockman, didn’t succeed in their plot to kill Matt and take control of Whitby Downs as they planned.’
‘What was Buchanan thinking?’
‘From what I can gather, the man was a control freak. When Matt and Charlotte eloped years ago, Buchanan br
oke up their marriage. I suspect that later he felt guilty over this, and the business of the wills was a clumsy attempt by him to effect a reconciliation between his daughter and Matt.’
‘It could so easily have backfired. So tell me, what happened out here?’
‘Taylor had come to police attention before.’ Luke leaned back against the wide windowsill and crossed one ankle over the other. ‘Over the last decade there have been a few complaints lodged against him by beneficiaries of wills who claimed they’d been cheated when Taylor acted as trustee for a relative’s estate; claims that couldn’t be substantiated. When Buchanan died and left his will as he did, the police decided to mount a sting and assigned me to work here on Whitby undercover; with a watching brief to ensure Charlotte and Matt stayed alive.’
‘You worked here undercover? How did Matt take that?’
‘Not well,’ Luke admitted, knowing that this was the understatement of the year. Matt had been livid.
‘So how come you’re working here now, as Whitby Downs’ foreman no less?’
The blunt question made him squirm. Embarrassed heat flooded his face. Trust Brooke to cut to the chase. ‘I have Charlotte to thank for that.’
‘She has a soft spot for you, does she?’ Brooke’s lips curved in an amused smile. ‘So why not ask her for help, or ask her to have her cook help you with Rose?’
‘It’s not that easy.’
‘Let me guess: in an effort to nab the bad guy, you cosied up to this Sofia to cajole information from her. Did she take exception to your tactics?’
‘It’s not funny,’ he muttered. ‘Sofia was one devious woman, and she sure had her own means of getting even.’
Brooke laughed, so obviously enjoying his discomfort. ‘So now you can’t ask her for help.’ Her amusement faded. ‘Which doesn’t help Rose. Have you considered asking the CWI if they can help provide you with a housekeeper?’
‘The CWI?’
‘The Country Women’s Institute; they run a housekeeping service for rural people, single men and women in your situation, people who work long hours and still need to keep a home together for their children. Your situation isn’t unique, Luke.’
‘I didn’t know such an organisation existed.’
‘Surely to God, Matt must know about it.’ She looked at him, shaking her head. ‘Did you ask his advice?’
Embarrassment again surged through Luke. Not in a million years would he approach Matt for help or advice about his domestic difficulties. But how could he explain this to Brooke? Luke knew he’d tested Matt’s tolerance, and although it may have been necessary, Luke knew that his deceit still stuck in Daintry’s craw. Not that he blamed the man—had the situation been reversed, Luke knew he would be equally as angry.
To Luke’s surprise, Charlotte had insisted that Matt keep him on as foreman. But Luke was well aware that Matt had only agreed once he learned Luke was now guardian and sole caregiver for his orphaned niece and nephew. Luke knew better than to test Matt’s patience further.
‘So where have you tried to find a housekeeper?’ Brooke asked, breaking into his thoughts.
‘I went to an employment agency, but the two women they sent out here were a disaster.’
Brooke grinned. ‘I can imagine.’
‘Can you?’ Her amusement rubbed against a very raw spot.
‘Sure.’ She choked back another laugh. ‘The CWI usually has a list of mature, rural women seeking work, motherly types that Rose and Otto wouldn’t see as a threat.’
‘A threat?’ Luke goggled at her. ‘What sort of threat could a housekeeper possibly be to my niece and nephew?’
Brooke sighed, muttering, ‘Why are men so damn obtuse?’
‘I heard that.’
‘Then let me explain.’ Her dark eyes twinkled. ‘Rose and Otto would see any woman looking for a man to provide for her as a threat—how could any such woman possibly want to be troubled with two needy kids?’
Brooke’s observation made Luke feel a prize fool. Embarrassment invaded his body like a livid, writhing thing. Such a scenario had never crossed his mind. Good God—talk about being as thick as a plank! Was that what that young woman the agency had sent out here been all about?
When Brooke crowed with laughter, he knew she’d somehow divined his thoughts and he gave her a look of pure dislike. It was all very well for her to laugh.
‘Why not ask Charlotte about a housekeeper,’ she asked when she got her merriment under control. ‘It’s obvious that you need help here. She may well know of someone who will be sympathetic to these kids’ needs.’
A burst of laughter interrupted their conversation. They turned towards the sound and Luke saw Frank and Otto—on his crutches—coming to meet them.
‘The young’un beat me hollow,’ Frank grumbled, ‘but he gave me a darn good run for my money.’
‘I beat Frank, Uncle Luke.’ Otto fairly bounced on his crutches. ‘Three games out of three.’
‘It’s Mr Galbraith to you, Otto,’ Luke corrected gently.
‘Pshaw!’ Frank snorted. ‘I have a perfectly good name, young fellow, and I told Otto to use it.’
‘The kid does play a good game,’ Luke said with a slow grin. ‘He beats the socks off me nine times out of ten.’
Chapter Four
As they all walked back to the sitting room, Brooke watched her father. His face was animated and there was no mistaking the spring in his shuffling gait. She blinked to dispel the tears stinging the back of her eyes.
It’s a long time since I’ve seen Dad show such enthusiasm. About anything.
Who would have thought that a game of chess could work such miracles?
Luke looked from her to her dad, his eyes soft with understanding. The darn man had called it exactly right. This visit had done wonders for her father’s morale. He had benefited from the change of scenery and spending time outside the confines of their home. Luke had seen her father’s situation far more clearly than she had.
Guilt slugged her in the gut. Was she more concerned about keeping a low profile than her dad’s emotional wellbeing? Had she kept him too close to home instead of encouraging him to resume living his life?
She resisted the urge to hover as her father settled himself in one of the comfortable armchairs. With his head on one side he watched her, his shrewd eyes twinkling.
Otto, moving with slow, laborious steps, made his way to the straight-backed chair next to her father and sat down.
‘Good work, son.’ Frank leaned across the space and put a hand on the boy’s leg.
Brooke felt a thrill of pride when she saw Otto using his crutches, albeit at a snail’s pace, instead of relying on the wheelchair. One glance at Luke and she knew he’d noticed too.
‘Otto was telling me his dad taught him to play chess.’ Frank leaned back in his chair and laced his hands over his belly. ‘He must have been a good teacher, or else this kid’s a natural.’
‘It’s a bit of both. Otto’s dad was the best, and this kid is no slouch.’ Luke’s voice was husky as he rested a hand on Otto’s shoulder.
The boy glowed and sat up straighter at the men’s praise.
‘Pity they still don’t run the chess tournament at the Sweetwater summer festival,’ Frank said with one of his endearingly lopsided smiles. ‘Otto would probably win hands down.’
‘They run a chess tournament here?’ Otto’s eyes sparkled with interest. ‘That would be so cool.’
‘They used to, but sadly the town seems to have given it away. It began a few years ago when one of the local lads challenged a national chess champion to pit his skill against the locals,’ Frank said, a reminiscent gleam in his eyes. ‘He played against anyone who was willing to give it a go. Didn’t he play twenty games simultaneously, Brooke?’
There was nothing wrong with her father’s memory, but she willed him to shut up. It was for one of those chess tournaments that Brad Thornton had first visited Sweetwater.
‘I’ll bet I could beat hi
m,’ Otto said, puffing out his chest.
‘You ever played against Brooke, Otto?’ Frank winked at her. ‘She’s the one who could trounce you with one hand tied behind her back.’
Otto turned to her, his eyes lighting up like a roman candle. ‘You play chess?’
Seeing his eager anticipation, Brooke didn’t have the heart to tell him that just the thought of playing chess now brought her out in a rash. It wasn’t so much the game as the hateful memories it resurrected. Memories she’d fought so hard to banish. Now, they screeched in one inharmonious chorus.
Otto is just a boy; he’s not Brad Thornton.
Brooke shoved the unhappy thought aside. ‘I used to play—’ she silently cursed the catch in her voice, ‘—but now I’m so darn rusty I can’t remember the moves.’
‘Chess is like riding a bike, you never really forget. Brooke was the player everyone around here was desperate to beat,’ Frank said, his smile reminiscent.
Luke leaned forward in his chair and the hands hanging between his knees slowly curled into fists, his expression suddenly blank.
Did he know Brad had been a champion chess player?
Brooke willed her father to drop the subject. She risked a sideways glance at Luke and their gazes clashed and held. Oh, he knew alright, and what’s more he’d made the connection. Instinctively, Brooke knew that he was not happy having her past exposed and in full view.
‘Will you play with me sometime, Brooke?’ Otto leaned forward, his expression so hopeful.
‘Maybe.’ Brooke found she was unable to refuse outright.
Otto looked set to wheedle, but Luke held up a hand in an imperative gesture. ‘We’ve taken up more than enough of Brooke’s time. I need to get back to work.’
It was a dismissal, pure and simple.
Brooke stood, her face aflame with embarrassment. Who the heck had invited her and her dad to stay for lunch? She rested a hand on her father’s shoulder. ‘We need to get back. It’s past time for your physio session.’
Frank grinned as he struggled upright, and stood for a moment until he was steady on his feet. He winked at Otto. ‘My physical therapist is such a slave driver. She never cuts this old man one ounce of slack.’